Sports of The Times; Civility Is Alive and Well at the U.S. Open

By GEORGE VECSEY

Published: September 4, 1994

THE greatest revelation of the first week of the United States Open does not concern charisma, or lack of it, in modern tennis. Actually, I'm getting tired about gumming over that one.

No, the greatest revelation to me in the first six days is that when the weather is pleasant, the United States Open ain't such a bad place, after all. This may not sound like much of a revelation, but we -- cumulatively, fans, players, press -- always approach the Open as if it were some kind of hellish two weeks, to be survived, or even ducked as quickly as possible, the way some seeded players seem to do. But I'm coming to think that the general scorn for the Open is based upon our collective memories of hot, humid weather making us all a bit crazy, plus making the garbage stink.

Aside from showers that held off play for a couple of hours on the first day, the weather has been crisp and fallish, the atmosphere New Yorkers associate with the Jewish high holy days rather than the sultry, fetid weather we associate with the Open. This is no small thing. From the upper reaches of the Stadium, you can actually see the skyline, etched on the horizon. Big city. Big event. Big crowds, just slightly off the pace of last year's record total of 530,764.

It was glorious to be out of doors yesterday, a sweet urban experience to stroll up to the National Tennis Center. It was, literally, a day in the park, unless you were searching for the lost strut of Jimbo, the lost snarl of Mac, the lost grunt of Monica. I can't help you with them.

Tennis is said to be having bad days, but compared with what? Thoroughbred racing in New York may be going the way of harness racing and the passenger pigeon, and we all know what happened to baseball, killed by its own proprietors, to prove a point.

The television ratings are way down for tennis, and somebody told me that Pete Sampras's face on the cover of Sports Illustrated does not exactly sell magazines, but the event itself, the Open in Flushing Meadows, still packs them in. How bad can it be?

They were standing in a long line at the end of the boardwalk yesterday at 10 A.M. There were thousands of people hoping the 500 same-day tickets would hold out. It's easy to say New Yorkers are so cooped up in their little rat-hole apartments that they will stand on line for any diversion -- a hot movie or a new restaurant or a sale -- but these didn't look like the kind of trendies who will do anything to get past any velvet rope.

"I was part of the tennis surge of the 70's," said Nan McGreevy of Toms River, N.J. "I don't go as much as I used to. I got tired of the American boys, the personalities. That's a sports mentality. But I like the foreign players and I still like good tennis. I like Pete Sampras; he's mellow. We're Buddhists."

Really? I asked, playing the straight man, as usual.

"No, we're Republicans," said her friend, Dave Hutchins.

Whatever their political persuasions, the fans scattered inside the Tennis Center. This early in the tournament, I had fun wandering around the outback of the tennis center, just like a fan, just like a real human being. Out on Court 17, when Iva Majoli of Croatia whacked a forehand past tiny Anna Smashnova of Israel, Majoli shouted, "Yessss!" like a regular Marv Albert.

Over on Court 16, I caught a glimpse of the blond Austrian, Thomas Muster, beating Tomas Enqvist of Sweden in straight sets. Later I would catch up with Muster's quotes that indicated he had arrived at a mature clue in how to play the Open:

"I am telling you, the more you win here, the more you like it," Muster said. "If you come here with an attitude, say, 'I hate hamburgers, I hate the planes, I hate the city, I hate the travel,' then stay home. That is the only reason. If you come here, just accept what is happening, otherwise it is very difficult."

The players talk as if the Open were as dense and noisy as Calcutta, but yesterday it was quite serene, even at the practice court, where Andre Agassi was practicing without his shirt on. A few yards away, Sampras -- with his shirt on -- was making a goodwill appearance at the little coop operated by the Association of Tennis Professionals. Sampras recited some answers to stock questions and then responded pleasantly to questions from the crowd.

When asked why he wasn't married, Sampras parried, "Is that my girl friend behind you?" After 15 minutes, a burly security guard ushered Sampras back into the sanctum of the players' lounge, and hundreds of people seemed happy with their autographs and their snapshots. It was a nice little touch by the association.

"I liked his educated answers. He thought about his answers before giving them," said 13-year-old Ian Sinclair of Staten Island.

The fans fed themselves on $8 mozzarella and red-pepper heroes and $4.50 beers, and they began edging toward the Stadium and the Grandstand, those two unwieldy Siamese twins. The knowledgeable American tennis fans groaned as Lindsay Davenport showed a morbid reluctance to advance to the net in her loss to Mana Endo of Japan. Don't we know how to teach tennis in this country?

Then the fans, anticipating the normal five hours of Michael Chang chasing down tennis balls, groaned again when Chang's opponent, Jim Grabb, retired early with a shoulder injury. But the day was still early. Agassi would eventually beat Wayne Ferreira in the Stadium. And he would even keep his shirt on. It's been that kind of week. Civilized. Who needs charisma?

Photo: Lindsay Davenport, the top-ranked American woman in the Open, after her defeat by Mana Endo of Japan. (Monica Almeida/The New York Times)